


Back to Good

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, Episode Related: sentineltoo, M/F - Category, M/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's having trouble dealing with Blair's 'resurrection', and, although he doesn't realize it, so is Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Good

## Back to Good

by Mona Ramsey

* * *

"Back to Good"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com 

"You can blink, you know." 

Simon shook his head when Jim looked at him, startled. It had been easier than normal to sneak up on Ellison these days - ever since Sandburg came back to work. 

"What are you talking about?" 

"You. Staring at him," Simon jerked his head to where Blair was sitting, on the corner of the desk assigned to the department's newest female detective. "Again." 

"I wasn't - " 

"Can it, Ellison. You haven't taken your eyes off of him for more than a second since he walked in. As a matter of fact, you haven't taken your eyes off of him, that I've noticed, since he came back from the dead." 

Jim picked up a folder and opened it up. "I'm not looking at him now," he said, pointedly ending the conversation. 

"He's not going to disappear, Jim. He's fine." 

"Right. Just force of habit," Jim said, with a strained chuckle. "I keep my eyes off of him for more than thirty seconds and he's in trouble." 

"Yeah. Apparently the kid can't get enough rejection," Simon said. He didn't believe that Jim was telling him the entire story, but he also didn't think he was going to hear it. "If you need some time, you've got vacation days from here to the millennium." 

"I know. Thanks, Simon. I'll let you know if we \- if _I_ need it," Jim said. 

"Okay," Simon went back to his office. He stopped in the doorway just before shutting it, and shook his head. Blair was still talking to - /flirting with, most likely/ - Detective Anderson. Four desks over, Ellison was sitting there, staring holes in the side of Sandburg's head. / _I_ should be the one taking the vacation,/ Simon thought to himself. 

* * *

it's nothing it's so normal  
you just stand there I could say so much  
but I don't go there 'cause I don't want to  
I was thinking if you were lonely  
maybe we could leave here and no-one would know  
at least not to point that we would think so 

* * *

"He's fine." 

/The _hell_ he's fine./ Nobody got it, nobody was there, nobody saw the real Blair - the one who went through two or three nightmares a week, like clockwork, nightmares where he would shake and yell and his heart would race a thousand miles a minute, and he _still_ wouldn't wake himself up. 

But he damn well woke his roommate up. 

The first time it had happened, Jim hadn't known what it was that jerked him awake in the middle of the night, his hands clutching the pillow so tightly that they were practically claws, his heart racing. It had taken Blair's cry - more of a gurgle, a desperate gasping for breath - to alert him to what the pounding in his head was. 

It was Blair's heartbeat. In all of the time that they'd been roommates, in all of the situations that they'd been thrown in together, Jim couldn't remember a time when it had been faster, more erratic, more _terrified_ -sounding, than then. The only other time he'd heard one like it was months ago, when Blair had 'drowned'. 

Then, it was his own. 

He'd raced down the stairs, expecting Blair to be awake, to be screaming for some tangible reason, but there was nothing - nothing that even sensitive Sentinel-eyes could see. The kid was fighting over something in his mind, and he wasn't even waking himself up over it. 

Jim warred with himself over whether or not to wake him up, trying to remember if it was a good or a bad thing to wake a dreamer in the middle of a nightmare, or whether that was sleepwalkers, and what was the case - 

Blair's next gasp for breath made his mind up for him. 

Jim sat on the bed and took him in his arms, rocking him back and forth, petting his back, anything that he could think of to soothe his Guide out of the dreams that sounded like they were killing him. Sometimes he was cold, shivering, sometimes near-wet with terrified sweat, sometimes his hair was pulled into a leather-strap tie that he favoured, sometimes it fell free and brushed against Jim's face. Always he would curl his body into the protective grasp of Jim's chest, clinging to him for dear life, his breath slowly, surely coming back to normal, gasping but filling his lungs at last, his heart following the same erratic path towards normalcy. Sometimes it took a few minutes, the longest was half an hour before the steady thrum was back to normal. 

And, despite all of this, despite the physical bruises that both of them sometimes endured from this punishing ritual, never did Blair ever wake up for any of it. Jim would hold him for an hour or more, waiting until his breathing and heartbeat reached the same deep rhythm, then lay his partner's limp body back down on the bed, brushing the hair from his face. 

The first morning Jim had been almost afraid to face Blair, worried that he'd be embarrassed or upset or ashamed, but he'd shown nothing like that. It was only after talking to him for a few minutes that he realized that Blair didn't remember anything of their midnight rendezvous, and, not wanting to upset him over something that was obviously more vivid to Jim than it was to Blair, he'd decided not to tell him. 

And then it happened again. And again. And Jim kept reacting the same way - just like Blair used to do for him, when he'd had regular zone-outs. This was just payback. The fact that he enjoyed holding his partner, soothing him, touching him, without his knowledge or remembrance of it, didn't mean anything. The fact that he even looked forward to Blair's night terrors was _his_ problem, no-one else's. 

The fact that Blair started dating again a couple of weeks ago bothered no-one except him. He told himself that his only worry was what would happen to the guy if he slept over at some girl's place and woke her up with his drowning dream. What if she didn't know what to do about it and freaked out? Who wouldn't, for that matter? 

The answer was obvious to only him. 

Luckily, it hadn't yet come up. Nobody that Sandburg dated ever went so far as it involve an entire night out. He came home and went to bed and dreamed, and Jim was right there, holding him and smelling someone's perfume on his body. 

* * *

everyone here knows everyone here is thinking 'bout somebody else  
well it's best if we all keep this under our heads  
I couldn't tell if anyone here was feeling the way I do  
but I'm lonely now and I don't know how  
to get it back to good 

* * *

Blair was rocking back and forth on his heels when he came back to Jim's desk. 

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "Strike out?" he asked, hopefully. 

"Hit it out of the park! Dinner, a movie, then - " Blair shrugged. "If I'm lucky, back to her place." His grin could light most of the city. "Don't wait up." 

He tried for indifference. "Do I ever?" 

Blair punched his arm. "Not lately, _dad_." He perched on the edge of the desk. "So, what are you doing tonight?" 

"With the loft to myself? Getting a good night's sleep, for a change." He immediately winced, his back to Blair. /Oh, hell. . ./ 

If Blair picked up on what Jim was referring to, he didn't show it. "Ha ha ha. Funny guy. You know I've been better lately with the 'no-noise after 10' rule. I haven't even _touched_ my laptop in weeks." 

"Right. Only you, Sandburg, can make _more_ noise when you're trying to be quiet than the Stones do in a stadium concert." 

"Mmm." Blair was back to not-very-discreetly staring at Detective Anderson. "Really, Jim, what do you think about her?" 

Jim gave her a cursory glance. "I don't know, Chief. I haven't even talked to her, except to say hello." 

"But what do you _think_ of her? I mean, she's beautiful, right?" 

"Chief, I have to work with the woman. Give me a break." 

"Oh, and since when has _that_ ever stopped you from doing the full guy thing?" Blair rolled his eyes. "Please. You're just being stubborn to discourage me." 

Jim looked at her again. Redhead, attractive, about thirty - she looked great. Definitely Sandburg's type - and usually the type to shoot him down. He must have toned down the neo-hippy punk and brought out more of the confident academic-anthropologist shtick. "She's fine, Blair. I'm sure you'll have a great time." 

"Yeah." The grin was back. "You think?" 

Jim sighed. "You want to know what I really think, Sandburg?" 

"What?" 

/I think you're too good for her./ "I think she's too good for you, and you're damn lucky." He picked up his jacket and went to sign out. 

* * *

this don't mean that you own me  
well this ain't no good in fact it's phony as hell  
but things worked out just like you wanted too  
if you see me out you don't know me  
try to turn your head try and give me some room  
to figure out just what I'm going to do 

* * *

There was nothing on tv except for some political re-hashings that didn't interest him in the least, and even the all-sports channel let him down by blacking out a basketball game for a replay of extreme sports. Somehow, road luge just wasn't in the game plan for the evening. 

Finally, he called Simon, asking if he wanted to go and grab a late dinner somewhere. 

Surprisingly, he was up for it, and they decided on the new Italian place that had opened a few blocks from the station. It was new enough that it didn't require a reservation - not that _Captain_ Banks was averse to throwing his position around to acquire a table. Working in Cascade PD had to have _some_ perks. 

It wasn't until they were seated with menus and a bottle of wine on the table that Jim heard it - a familiar laugh that caught his ear from across the room. 

Blair. 

/Shit./ 

He hadn't even noticed Blair's car out in the lot, but there was parking on the roads around the restaurant, too. The only good thing was the fact that Blair hadn't noticed that he and Simon were there, too. He told himself that he _should_ leave, but just as he opened his mouth, Blair's laugh rang out again, and he closed it. /Fuck it./ 

He spent the evening half-listening to Simon, making answers - sometimes distracted and non-committal - trying _not_ to listen in on Blair's date. It was damned tough, though - every once in a while Blair's laughter would ring out, joined by that of his date. It was grating, it was annoying, and it was driving him crazy. If it weren't for the dreams, he'd be like everyone else \- assuming that Blair had just magically gone back to normal after his drowning ordeal. Everyone else commented on it to Jim, saying how remarkable it was, how great to have the kid back, how well he looked. And he _did_ look well - on the outside. 

But there _were_ the dreams, and Jim had somehow backed himself into a corner over them. By not telling Blair about them, he thought that he was helping, being the concerned one for a change. But Blair wasn't getting over them, and Jim didn't know if he would. If he _did_ tell him, then he'd have to tell him that he'd been having them for a while, that they didn't seem to improve at all, and that he - Jim Ellison, Supercop, macho-man, Sentinel - had been creeping into his room at night to hold and soothe him. The more he did it, the more he was feeling like a lecherous old man taking advantage of an unconscious younger friend. But even _those_ feelings weren't enough for him to stop. 

Because, to tell the truth, he liked having Blair depend on him, even if he didn't know it. 

He sighed and picked up his wine glass, just as another note of laughter drifted over to his ears. 

* * *

'cause everyone here hates everyone here for doing just like they do  
and it's best if we all keep this quiet instead  
and I couldn't tell why everyone here was doing me like they do  
and I'm sorry now and I don't know how  
to get it back to good 

* * *

It was the longest meal that Jim could remember eating, and he didn't even taste the food. He begged off coffee and dessert, pleading sudden tiredness, and Simon agreed. It wasn't until they were outside the restaurant, about to part company, that Simon said, "So, you follow Sandburg on all of his dates, or was this a special case?" 

Jim bristled. "I didn't know he was coming here." 

"I was _kidding_ , Jim. I didn't think you were stalking him." He pursed his lips a little. "Still, that would explain the eavesdropping." 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

"I volunteered you to work the next five _years_ of statutory holidays, and you didn't so much as blink an eye." 

Jim stared at him in disbelief. 

"I _can_ tell when someone isn't listening to me, Ellison," Simon said. "I used to be a detective, too." 

"I'm sorry, Simon. I wasn't expecting to see him _here_. It just - threw me off, that's all." 

"Gave you an excuse, you mean." 

The bristling came back, stronger than ever. "For what?" 

"I'm not sure. I'm not even sure that _you_ know, and I'm damned sure that Sandburg doesn't. But I think you should talk to him, Jim. Something's going on between you two that you need to work out, one way or the other." 

A sudden wave of tiredness washed over him. "I don't know, Simon." 

Simon clapped him on the shoulder. "He _died_ , Jim. That's a big deal, and nobody's treated it like one, not even him. That's just not - normal. Hell, none of this is normal. And I'm more concerned about _you_ than I am him." He pulled out his keys and repeated, "Talk to him." 

* * *

everyone here is wondering what it's like to be with somebody else  
and everyone here's to blame  
everyone here gets caught up in the pleasure of the pain  
but looking inside we're the same we're the same  
we're all grown now but we don't know how  
to get it back to good 

* * *

Jim didn't hear Blair come in, didn't hear him come up the stairs and peek in, didn't hear the toilet flush or the door to his room close. He was fast asleep, dreaming of - nothing that he would be able to remember. He'd driven around for a while after leaving Simon, trying to digest both the food and the talk, but they both swirled around inside him. 

"Talk to Blair." How hard would that be? Impossible? When had that happened, exactly? When had the egg-shells come out, in place of the friendship that they'd always shared so easily, ever since they'd first become partners, friends, roommates - 

Now, almost strangers who shared a home, and, for a few hours a week, a bed. Blair had died, he'd _died_ , and in those minutes that he was dead, Jim had learned the truest meaning of the word 'alone'. Bereft. Lost. 

He drifted off pretty quickly, surprising himself, not stirring, not even moving. It wasn't until he heard it - 

the rush, the thrum, the full-out-panic heartbeat. He opened his eyes, warring again with himself, /stay here/ and /go to him/ fighting for supremacy. /Talk to him,/ Simon had said. /Fly to the moon would have been easier./ 

He got up, didn't bother with robe, just got up in his t-shirt and shorts and walked down the stairs, the heartbeat strong in his ears, clouding out thought. Blair hadn't called out, he didn't seem to be gasping or struggling, but that heartbeat was still there - 

He was focused on it, stark and startling. He didn't hear anything else, didn't even hear his _own_ heartbeat. 

He pushed open the door, expecting Blair to be curled up, fetal-positioned against the pillows, in pain. 

Didn't expect to see him, flat on his back in the bed, awake. Every _bit_ of him awake. Slowly, other sounds started to filter in - the heightened breathing, the musk of pheromones and hormones and sweat, and the fact that there was Blair, on the bed, not in the throes of another nightmare, but something far more enjoyable. He was fine. 

He was _not_ alone. 

* * *

everyone here knows everyone here is thinking 'bout somebody else  
and it's best if we all keep this under our heads  
see I couldn't tell now if anyone here was feeling the way I do  
and it's over now and I don't know how  
guess it's over now  
there's no getting back to good 

* * *

He worked out the plan in his mind - set the alarm to get himself up as early as possible, grab some clothes, and head for the station. Shower and change there, go somewhere for breakfast, and be extra-early for the morning shift. Perfect. 

The only thing was, when the alarm went off at five-thirty and he headed downstairs, Blair was waiting for him. 

Alone. 

/Shit./ "Sandburg - " 

"Jim - " 

They both said it at once. "I'm sorry." 

Blair beat him to the punch for second sentence. "She just got to town, she hasn't even unpacked yet, she's been sleeping on her couch." He ran his hands through unruly curls. "It was a stupid idea, I'm sorry, man - " 

"Blair." Jim held a hand up. "It's okay, really. It was my fault for walking in on you." He sat down, shaking his head. "I'm sorry I interrupted." 

Blair chuckled. "It's okay, big guy. Serves me right for trying to pull one over on a Sentinel." 

Jim chewed his lip. "Was she - upset?" 

"Nah. She didn't even notice. We were a little - " Blair cut himself off, starting to blush. "Well, you know." He fidgeted around with the cuff on his shirt. "We didn't - I mean, you couldn't - " 

"I turned up the white noise machine, Sandburg," Jim said. "The last thing I want to hear is you getting lucky, believe me." 

"Good." Blair chuckled, a little nervously. "It will _never_ happen again. At least, not when you're _here_." 

"Thanks." Jim looked around. "She didn't stay?" 

"Nah. She was more freaked about coming here than I was, with the two of you working together. I told her you wouldn't know." Blair looked pleadingly at him. "You _won't_ say anything, right?" 

"Of course not. I never - see and tell," Jim smiled. 

"Great. I knew I could count on you, big guy. Man, last night - whoa. It was - " 

"Uh, Blair - could we _not_ talk about this? I mean - I'm getting visuals, here." 

"Oh. Right. Sorry." He picked up a towel and bathrobe from the back of the couch. "Okay if I shower first?" 

"Sure." Jim went into the kitchen to make coffee. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"If you didn't know I was with her, why did you come to my room?" 

"I thought - something just sounded strange, that's all." 

"Oh." Blair smiled at him. "From now on, if I make a strange noise in the middle of the night, do me a favour and just chalk it up to a dream, okay?" 

"Yeah. No problem, Chief." Blair kicked the bathroom door closed, and Jim poured water in the coffeemaker. "No problem at all." 

The End  
MonaR.  
monaram@mailcity.com/monaram@iname.com  
{Honestly, I _meant_ for this to be slash. . . But this song has been haunting me for weeks, now, and I've been wanting to use it - somehow, it just didn't cry out 'happy ending' to me. . . Blame Matchbox 20, not me. :)} 


End file.
